


Coming Back

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Abraham is an ass, As if that's news, Edmund is a sad bb, F/M, Smut-implied??, Smut-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of Abraham's ill-timed observations about Anna's relationship with Edmund reach Edmund's ears. Anna seeks to prove to Edmund that she is, in fact, as invested in their relationship as Edmund is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> PLOT BUNNIES, PLOT BUNNIES EVERYWHERE! Here we have the typical overheard conversation trope, but with so many high-stakes things happening, this trope has the potential to be quite dramatic. I also wrote this at a flurry in one in the morning, so if there are any typos, forgive me.

Edmund stared listlessly at the parchment before him. He had intended on writing a letter to his mother – he had put it off too long already – but what to say? His command was probably in jeopardy because of a maniac he didn’t have the stomach to put down? He was hopelessly in love with a woman that didn’t want him? He had lost his horse, his best friend, because of some stupid war that didn’t really mean that much to him anyway? 

He sighed heavily and put the quill back in the inkwell. He let the empty parchment stare back at him for a while before he decided it would be best to retreat to bed. He carefully removed his wig, letting his fingers run through his short brown hair that had been pressed against his scalp all day. 

He had only removed his coat when he heard the harpsichord plink gently, like someone wasn’t sure if they were playing or not. He hesitated, his coat in his hand, and listened. Another plink, this one off-key. 

He smiled softly to himself. That had to be Anna. Mary had gone to bed with Thomas hours ago, and Richard never played the harpsichord. Come to think of it, the only other person that played it was Edmund himself. He allowed himself a few indulgent moments, leaning against his bedroom door, listening to Anna struggle through one of the easier songs that Edmund had tried to teach her. 

It pleased him deeply that she was still trying to improve at the instrument, though he could tell her heart wasn’t truly in it. But he enjoyed sitting beside her, leaning close to her, and watching her lower her guard, the one that he had struggled to climb. 

Suddenly, the quiet playing stopped, and was replaced with hushed voices. Edmund listened closely again, pressing his ear against the door. But Anna didn’t seem to be in any danger, just…upset. Her voice would quickly rise in volume, only to be hushed by whomever she was speaking to.

He quietly eased the door open, wondering why he was bothering with such secrecy. He loathed skulking around in the dark, especially when someone he cared about was involved. The voices were only slightly clearer from the other side of the door, and he craned his neck toward the stairs to hear it. 

The other one was Abraham, he deducted quickly. 

“What, did Mary ask you to stay up and tell her when I got home?” he was saying quietly, his hushed voice full of accusation. 

Anna scoffed. “Mary didn’t ask me to do anything. She doesn’t want me anywhere near you.” 

Abraham didn’t respond immediately, and Edmund scooted closer to the stairs. “That’s true,” he finally said. “Although she might trust you more if you keep playing Hewlett.” 

Edmund froze at the mention of his name. Playing him? He was at the top of the stairs now, listening intently for Anna’s response. Was the attention she’d paid him this whole time some sort of ruse? Had she been seeking some other goal in keeping him interested in her?

“Playing Hewlett?” she repeated. “I’m not playing anyone.” 

Abraham scoffed. “Come on, Anna, we all see it. He’s in love with you, and now you don’t have to worry about Simcoe, and you live in Whitehall…”

Edmund felt his cheeks redden. So she had been using him after all. He turned away from the stairs and started for his bedroom door. He’d heard enough of this discussion. 

“He offered to bring me here,” Anna retorted, and Edmund halted, against his will. “He was protecting me from Simcoe, which is more than I can say for you.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Abraham’s voice dropped to an angry whisper, and Edmund had to go back to the top of the stairs to hear the rest. “I tried to have him killed for you, and now I’m working on setting Hewlett’s men against Simcoe’s Rangers but he brings you into my father’s house and you’re singing him praises now?” 

“Abe, stop –” Anna said, her voice betraying fear now. Against his better judgment, Edmund put one foot on the stairs, ready to come to her aid. “Abe…you’re hurting me.” 

That was all Edmund needed to hear. He started down the stairs, as quietly as he could, and found Abraham, his lips pressed to Anna’s, his hand tight around her wrist. He could see, from her rigid body, that she was trying to get away from him, but he had her pressed against the harpsichord. 

Seeing the woman he loved kissing another man, however against her will, put a rough edge to Edmund’s voice. “That’ll be quite enough, Mr. Woodhull.” 

They sprang apart, Anna looking relieved, and Edmund felt a rush of pride when she quickly crossed the room to stand beside him. As Edmund surveyed Abraham, looking not only guilty but a little hostile, he felt Anna’s hand beside him latch on to his. He squeezed it. 

“Major Hewlett,” Abraham finally said, clearing his throat. “It…that was…we were just talking.” 

“I’m sure you were,” Edmund said coldly. “But it seems like Mrs. Strong doesn’t want to talk to you. So, if you will agree to retreat up to your room, to your wife and son, I think we will have no more reason to speak of this.” 

Abraham surveyed the situation, his eyes narrowed. Once his gaze landed on Anna, Edmund felt his lip curl into a sneer. “Go, Mr. Woodhull. I will have no issue in rousing your father. Or your wife.”

The mention of his father seemed to take. Abraham gave Anna one last look before he retreated up the stairs. When his figure had disappeared up the stairs, Edmund turned to Anna. He hadn’t forgotten Abraham’s words. 

Keep playing Hewlett. 

She still looked a confused mixture of angry and frightened, and Edmund found himself struggling not to give her a reassuring smile. 

Keep playing Hewlett. 

“Well,” he finally said. “I am sorry for interrupting your conversation, but you sounded like you were in danger, so –”

She waved off his apology with a small smile. “Thank you, Edmund, for coming to my rescue.” 

The use of his first name immediately sent a jolt through him. He so rarely heard it on her lips; he clenched his jaw tightly and turned away from her, to go back up the stairs. “I trust that you will have no more issues with young Mr. Woodhull tonight,” he said with the barrier of the stairs between them. “I shall…I shall see you at breakfast.” 

She looked confused, like he was being unnecessarily cold to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He couldn’t, simultaneously, bring himself to tell her that he heard what Abraham had said. Even if she was playing him, rather artfully, unlike her harpsichord, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop. The attention she was giving him, feigned or not, was the only thing that kept him happy in Setauket. 

To end it, even if it was a lie, was not something he could abide. 

“Edmund?” she called halfway up the stairs. He paused in his ascent and turned back to her. She was standing directly below him, her chin turned upward, her eyes as large and unfathomable as ever. She looked like she was struggling with the courage to say something in particular, and the silence stretched as she looked up at him. “Um…well. Good night.” 

“Good night, Mrs. Strong,” he said, the use of her married name a slip that he couldn’t catch in time. He saw hurt register momentarily on her face – she had used his given name as a show of familiarity and he had rebuked her with her formal one – but he was already turning away, retreating up the stairs to his bedroom, and his empty letter to his mother. 

He had no problem filling the letter now, pouring his dissatisfaction, his unhappiness, his hurt into the letter that his poor mother probably wouldn’t even finish reading, and felt marginally better the more he wrote. He wrote about Anna, how she was…playing him. Writing the words felt wrong, like he was taking them out of context. He wrote about Abraham, his mysterious passions that always seemed unfounded. He wrote about Bucephalus, and struggled to keep his emotions in check. 

He asked his mother, rather plainly, why he was here. He wasn’t sure anymore that he was serving any sort of purpose for the King, sitting in the same city, fighting the same battle continuously, searching for rebels in every dark corner. Why did he do this to himself? All he wanted was to look at the stars. 

He felt whiny, he felt…emasculated. He felt a thousand things, and the more he wrote in the letter, the more they bubbled up within him. He hoped that writing it would ease him, but he only felt like he had excess energy and nowhere to expend it. 

Finally, the sounds of Anna coming up the stairs reached him. He had been listening for her since he had shut the door, wondering if she would brave being downstairs, inviting Abraham to come back, or if she would immediately retreat to her room. 

Her footsteps paused outside his door for a moment, and he held his breath. 

They passed. He heard them reach her door, heard the door creak open…but didn’t hear it close. He waited, with bated breath, to hear the telltale click of her door closing. The longer the silence stretched, the more anxious he became. Why was her bedroom door open? 

Her knock at his door took him by surprise. It was quiet, tentative, but he knew it was hers. He quickly shoved the letter to his mother into a drawer and moved toward the door. He tried to steel himself against whatever she was going to say, but he could feel his pulse bounding in his chest in spite of himself. 

She looked uneasy; her eyes went immediately to his hair, and he realized suddenly, with great embarrassment, that he hadn’t been wearing his wig this whole time. She finally met his eyes, and gave him a weak smile. 

“I realized something,” she said as a greeting. “Can I come in?” 

Having Anna Strong in his bedroom was nothing short of a series of dreams for Edmund, but he denied himself. “It…it isn’t proper,” he protested quietly, trying to make sure no one else was listening to their conversation. 

“Everyone’s asleep,” she reasoned. “Unless you wanted me to wake up Abraham so he could chaperone?” 

He almost cracked a smile at that. She gave him a flutter of her eyelashes that was meant to break his dam on laughter, but he bottled it. Her eyes turned sad. 

“You heard us,” she said simply. “You heard what Abe said, about me playing you. Didn’t you?” 

He immediately looked away from her, giving himself away. She used his momentary lack of attention to move more directly into the bedroom. Gently, she closed the door behind her. 

“Will you at least let me explain?” she asked as Edmund tried to figure out how and when the door had been closed. 

“There’s nothing to explain, Mrs. Strong,” he answered, going back to the door. “I believe Abraham was perfectly clear.” 

He opened the door and stood beside it, hoping it would coerce her into leaving. She stared at the open doorway and back up at him for a moment before she snatched the door from his grasp and closed it again. 

“I’m not playing you,” she said firmly. When he averted his eyes from hers, she reached for his hands. “I’m not playing you,” she repeated. “What do I have to do to prove it?” 

He took his hands back. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said simply. 

“Of course Abe thinks I’m playing you,” Anna burst out, ignoring his response. “He’s the one that’s constantly playing games with other people. Mary, Richard, me. There’s no reason why he would think that someone could have genuine feelings for another person because he’s so wrapped up in his own feelings that he never stops to consider anyone else’s.” 

“Mrs. Strong –”

“I thought I told you to call me Anna,” she cut him off immediately. 

“Anna, then –”

“No, let me finish,” she snapped, and he quickly fell silent. “Yes, I had an affair with Abraham, but that was months ago, and it was stupid. I was scared, and lost, and he was the person that I’d known the longest. That I’d loved the longest. But he deserted me too.” 

Edmund opened his mouth to interrupt. He didn’t want to hear this, especially not right now. But she gave him a cold look that clearly said she wasn’t finished, and he snapped his mouth shut. 

“But you…” here she finally hesitated, for so long that Edmund thought she was truly done talking. “You, with your gallantry, and chivalry, and respect,” her voice caught on the last word, and his eyes jumped to hers, swimming in tears that he didn’t understand. “No one…no one has ever given me respect.” 

One of those tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and Edmund was transfixed. She left it there, shining in the moonlight coming through the windows. 

“I thought that allowing you to protect me would be…for my greater good. I could get away from Simcoe, not have to worry about him standing outside my door at night, but you didn’t just take me away from Simcoe. You took me away from the ghosts of my old house, you showed me the stars, the planets, a comforting larger picture that I didn’t have before. You cared.” 

“So when you got taken by the rebels, I cared. I screamed for you, I begged anyone, even Simcoe, to bring you back. I did the same thing when they took my husband, but that wish didn’t truly come true. But you came back to me.” 

She had moved toward him, that one tear still hanging from the bottom of her jaw, and her hands came to rest on the sides of his face. “Every single time I’ve needed someone, you’ve come back to me.” 

She had the ghost of a smile on her face, and Edmund found himself staring unabashedly at her lips. “May I speak now?” he asked, his voice hushed at their new close proximity. 

She let out a quiet laugh and finally wiped the tear that had been residing on her jaw. “Sure,” she answered. 

He didn’t speak after all. Gently, but with enough force to knock a gasp free from her lungs, he pushed her against the wall of the bedroom and pressed his mouth to hers. She was smiling; he could feel it, but her hands that had been on his face lowered to his shirt to grasp at the material there, her fingers barely scraping his bare skin. 

He tilted her head up and ran his tongue along her bottom lip, relishing in the sound she made when she opened her mouth to allow him access. He had longed, hoped, for the opportunity to kiss Anna Strong for as long as he could remember, but he had always banished it as a hope that would never come to fruition. 

Now, he was struggling to hold her up against the wall of his bedroom as he placed firm kisses on the column of her jaw and her knees started to buckle. With a moan that was so breathy it was almost a sigh, she suggested that they move to the bed. 

He pulled away from her, their noses still brushing, and considered the thought that he would like nothing more than to act on. “We probably shouldn’t…” he began, but Anna started dropping kisses on his neck while he considered, chasing all coherent thought from his mind. “We…Anna…”

“I think we’re well past proper, don’t you?” she whispered against his skin, and the tone of her voice was so delectably sinful that he agreed. 

She let him slowly undress her, lingering on the buttons of her bodice and the strings of her stockings and garters. When she was almost bare before him, she slowly undid the ties around his collar and pulled his shirt off, tossing it behind her with a nonchalance that drew out another groan from him. 

She allowed him to remove his own breeches, at his behest. She waited, her hair spread like a dark halo around her bare shoulders, while he removed the rest of his clothes. When they were both naked, she pulled him back to her and gently kissed his mouth reverently, lingering on his lower lip. 

Everything they did was slow and patient, like they were worshipping each other. She kissed the scars that marred Edmund’s shoulder from a childhood injury. He lingered at her collarbone. She let him trace the curve of her hip with his fingers, her legs pinning him in place on either side. She ran her hands through his short hair, the hair he was so self-conscious of, and noted quietly, her lips on his skin, that she liked his real hair better. 

He felt the “I love you,” lingering on the edge of his mouth, but held back, trying not to overwhelm her. She seemed content, happy, with where they were. He relished in the permission he had been given, the liberties they had allowed with each other, and vowed to save his declaration for a better moment.

He had just positioned himself between her thighs when she stopped him, pulling his lips down to hers again for another deep kiss. When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping her face gently. She turned and planted a kiss on the palm of his hand. 

She shook her head and sighed, releasing another tear with it. “It’s just…thank you. For coming back to me.” 

Edmund spent the rest of the night reassuring her that he would never leave her again.


End file.
